


Sun, Moon, Stars

by A Magiluna Stormwriter (ariestess)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-26
Updated: 2005-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/pseuds/A%20Magiluna%20Stormwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A melancholy Christmas…and a reminder of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun, Moon, Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minerva_fan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=minerva_fan).



> Date Written: 8 - 25 December 2005  
> Summary: A melancholy Christmas…and a reminder of love.  
> Spoilers (if any): post-HBP  
> Warning: mention of character death  
> Feedback: Feedback is certainly appreciated. The more constructive, the better....  
> Link to: [BDKK Harry Potter Universe site](http://bdkk.shatterstorm.net/hp/)  
> Archive: ShatterStorm Productions ONLY  
> Advertisement: Part of the [FSAC:DW05](http://fsac.shatterstorm.net/)
> 
> Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything Harry Potter-related. I’m just borrowing from the toybox for a little entertainment. I promise I’ll put them back mostly unharmed.
> 
> Author’s Note: The villanelle is cheesy, I wholeheartedly admit that. But in a way, it's supposed to sound cheesy, you know?
> 
> Beta: Shatterpath
> 
> Dedication: This was written for [Minerva_Fan](http://www.livejournal.com/users/minerva_fan/) as a part of her 2005 wishlist.

  


"Damn and blast it all!" I muttered, storming into my rooms. Minerva was stuck in some meeting or another that didn't involve me. I wasn't sure if it involved the staff, the Ministry, or the Order. And to be completely honest, I didn't give a damn. I just wanted it over with. I wanted my Min back, wanted the old man back, wanted things back when they were simpler. When all we had to worry about keeping the Potter boy and his friends safe, all the students safe. All the world, for that matter.

As soon as all of this hell was over, if it ever was, I was planning on taking Minerva away on holiday, just the two of us. No students, no Ministry, no Order, nobody but us. Somewhere quiet, hidden away from the world. And I'd lavish her with attention and affection, until she begged me to stop. I'd spend an entire fortnight making love to her until she couldn't stand it anymore.

"Mara? Is that you?"

Merlin, but she sounded horrible. I could hear the tears in her voice, and bit back a growl, wanting revenge on whomever it was that made her feel that way. I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. It gave me long enough to swallow down my desire to go kick some arse. Stepping further into my rooms, I couldn't resist the urge to cast my gaze from head to toe, reassuring myself she wasn't physically hurt.

"Min? What's wrong?" I asked, moving quickly to her side on the couch, one hand lifting to stroke her tear-streaked cheeks.

"It's nothing," she replied, wiping at her face before offering me a smile. Her eyes studied me for a long moment, fingers stroking my cheek. "I'm serious, Mara, it's nothing. I'm just…reminiscing."

I chuckled and reached up to tug at the pins holding her hair up in that severe twist she preferred. "And just what sort of reminiscing are you doing, hmm? Perhaps thinking of past lovers, my tartan-clad tart?" I asked, fingers grazing her sides playfully.

"Xiomara Hooch!" she replied, squirming against me. "I am no tart, you brazen hussy! My mother warned me about witches like you; you athletic types are all alike."

My grin grew wider as I watched her struggling not to mirror it, and I leaned in close to whisper in her ear, "All alike, are we? And how would you know how alike we athletic types are, Min?" I put just enough of a husky tone in my voice to make her shiver.

"You're cheating, Mara," she groaned softly, leaning into my touch.

"I don't see you fighting back, Kitten," I teased, fingers soothingly massaging her scalp, working through her hair. Her contented purr seemed to grow as her tension melted away under my hands. And as she relaxed, so did I. I let my hands move further down to the tight muscles in her shoulders. "Merlin, but you've been storing up this tension for a while now, haven't you? Meetings that bad today?"

She snorted softly and burrowed her head further into the curve between my neck and shoulder for a long moment. "It's not just the meetings," she said, pulling back to stand up and begin pacing. "It's this whole bloody war. It's the fact that Albus is gone. It's the fact that Severus won't tell me why he did it. I know there's more to it than meets the eye."

I growled at the former Potions Master's name. The bloody bastard didn't deserve to live. Particularly not after what he'd done. And yet Minerva still held that he had some level of innocence in the whole bloody thing. We'd had several heated rows over it, never with a clear decision made other than agreeing not to bring it up again. "Min…"

"I know, Mara, I know," she sighed, stopping to remove her glasses and squeeze at the bridge of her nose. "It's just that Christmas was one of Albus' favorite times of the year. And now I've got to try to do what he did, and act like it's not one of the hardest things I've ever done." She blinked once, twice, three times, and shuddered slightly. "I don't think I can do it, Mara," she whispered hoarsely. "I can't compete with his memory, no matter what that damned painting of him says."

"You don't need to compete with any damned ghost," I half-growled at her. Forcing myself to take a breath, I didn't speak again until I let the renewed anger dissipate. "Minerva, love, listen to me. You are not Albus Dumbledore, no matter what you think you need to be. You are Minerva McGonagall."

"But everyone expects--"

"Everyone can blow their expectations out their arses, for all I give a bloody damn! All you need to worry about is making sure that you're doing the best you can, and that you're not compromising your principles or yourself in the process. Are you doing that?"

She nodded slowly. "But, Mara--"

"No buts, Kitten," I cajoled, moving to wrap her in my arms. She willingly accepted my gentle kiss, but I could still see the tension creasing the skin around her expressive eyes. "Have I ever told you just what you mean to me?"

She blinked owlishly at me, and I fought back a smirk at catching her completely off-guard. It didn't happen often, and I relished each and every time I was able to do it.

I leaned in for another gentle kiss, hands soothing down her back repeatedly. "Wait here," I ordered lightly and headed into my bed chamber. I dug into the well-hidden, well-warded trunk under my bed and then just brought the whole thing with me. Returning to the front room, I found Min back on the couch, staring into the fire started by the house elves. I made my way to sit next to her, pretending not to see the curiosity shining in her eyes. Her more obvious feline characteristics never ceased to amaze -- or amuse -- me. And I continued to ignore her as I dug into the box. I couldn't believe I was doing what I was doing, but sometimes desperate times truly did call for desperate measures. With a dramatic flourish, I pulled out a well-worn scroll and handed it to her.

"What's this?" she asked softly, fingers gently stroking the weathered parchment, the velvet ribbon.

"Something I've been carrying around for a few decades now," I admitted, my tone a mixture of sheepishness and pride. "Go ahead and open it."

With a delighted curiosity, she gingerly untied the ribbon and set it in her lap. Carefully, she unrolled the scroll and began to read its contents. I fought the urge to fidget while she read it, feeling suddenly inadequate. I stared at the fire, unwilling to see revulsion or condescension in her eyes.

"Oh, Mara," she breathed, and I found my gaze falling on her tentatively.

"I'd never honestly expected to give it to you," I said, uncharacteristically starting to babble in my nervousness. "It was simply something that I dabbled in at one point. It's horrid, I know. Please don't hold it against me, Min. I never said poetry was my forte, and I've never really tried it since."

She pressed two fingers against my lips, stopping my rambling speech. Once again, I saw the tears in her eyes and forcibly tamped down the fear that I'd disappointed or upset her. She started to speak, stopped to clear her throat, and tried again. "Did you mean it?" I blinked at her in confusion. "The sentiment. Did you mean it, Mara?"

"Absolutely," I murmured, my lips brushing her fingertips as I spoke.

For a long moment, she stared at me, tears slipping down her cheeks, studying my face intently. And then she was kissing me, passionately, like when we were first young lovers so long ago. I couldn't help but give in to the emotions, the heady sensation of my lover pressed against me, and I returned the kiss fervently. When the need for oxygen finally overwhelmed us, I watched her and tried to force my heart to stop trip-hammering.

"Thank you, Xiomara Hooch," she murmured huskily.

"For what?" I asked curiously, not even realizing I'd vocalized the thought until she answered me.

"For reminding me that I do matter to someone for myself, not for what they expect me to be."

I smiled foolishly, proudly, lovingly, and cupped her face in my palms, brushing at her tears with my thumbs. "For all my life, no matter how high I fly, you are my sun, my moon, my stars in the sky," I whispered, repeating part of the poem, meaning it as much now as when I'd originally written it. "I love you, Min."

"I love you, too, Mara," she replied and kissed the tip of my thumb.

Our lips met in another kiss, at the same time tender and passionate. I took the scroll and placed it in the trunk again, then took her hand and led her into the bedroom. There would be time enough for talking later, presently I needed to remind my love just what she meant to me.

If anyone had walked into my rooms that evening, they'd have heard the joyful sounds of our lovemaking well into the wee hours of the morning. And if they'd looked more closely, they'd have found a small trunk on the floor, a scroll of parchment opened on top of it, covered in my angular, cramped handwriting, declaring my feelings for the woman I loved more than life itself.  
  
  
  


_For all my life, no matter how high I fly,  
No matter where my broom may eventually ground,  
You are my sun, my moon, my stars in the sky._

_I look back on my youth with a heavy sigh,  
Recall the promises to which I'm bound  
For all my life, no matter how high I fly._

_Such intense scrutiny in that bright cat's eye  
From your window as on my broom I whirl around.  
You are my sun, my moon, my stars in the sky._

_No matter how often I may seem to deny,  
The depths of your love for me will always astound  
For all my life, no matter how high I fly._

_Even when my last breath draws nigh,  
The truth on my lips will always be found:  
You are my sun, my moon, my stars in the sky._

_I've never once questioned the reason why  
I'll never hesitate with a promise this profound:  
For all my life, no matter how high I fly,  
You are my sun, my moon, my stars in the sky._


End file.
